quote: Same outcome, even if they didn't do it the same way (i.e. wanking over the bed sheets, dropping lsd -- to be overly simplistic of them chaos-types). Corporate business models are routinely compared to magic and corporate logos to sigils.
Then again, as Mordant said, I wouldn't put it past them to employ people who claim to be magicians rather than just good PR people.
All depends on what you consider magic, of course.
I think we'd all be amazed if we found out what goes on behind some closed corporate doors.
Here's a transcript of a dream I had late last year. It foretold a lot of the twisted shit I found out about the company I work for.
quote: ...I’m in a room at the top of the skyscraper, maybe 15' by 15', and I know it’s not possible for such a thin, tall structure to be properly supported. When I peer down out the window I feel nausea, feel the swaying as the wind moves us... I’m sitting with colleagues (if I lie to myself just right I call them friends and feel like I’ve opened up a part of myself to them) and when I look at them we smile and joke, and I forget the vertigo. We’ve assembled here for a purpose, we’re waiting...
...it’s the same place, but the location has changed: we’re now assembled deep in the structure, underground. It’s a basement or a loading bay - exposed brick and concrete, dust, but it’s laid out like a makeshift temple, like those nomadic Charismatic Churches that meet in schools, halls, anywhere. There is a crescent of plastic chairs around a crude PA, the speakers flanked by banners that are unfolded to show gold inscription on white - it looks like Hebrew but it’s detourned, distorted, not Hebrew. My colleagues gather, a childhood friend is bought out, held imprisoned by two men I know from work... their faces are blurred, they could be anyone in that office, two out of a thousand. I run to him - I know it’s dangerous for him to be here, I tell him I’ll get him out of there, he can trust me, I won’t let anything happen...
...I’m pinned to my seat as my manager takes to the microphone, only she’s more than my manager: she’s a gestalt, a mix of authority figures from work - I can see my team manager’s face and the division manager’s face in her shifting features... I’ve only ever known her to make doublespeak, a conduit for the corporation: I know she’s about to speak truth, for the first time since I’d met her, to strip away any pretense. Now two priests stride from an adjoining room, wearing white and gold, corrupt ministries, and one of them is carrying a wicked curved ceremonial blade, and the manager is saying, “This is the time when we gather to bless the coming year; this is the day we sacrifice to our gods...”
...I’m in the open air, feeling sick, gasping for breath, and I can see the unfolding ceremony through the open iron loading shutters, and I felt I couldn’t have remained in that makeshift temple any longer, as if some corrupting force were crushing it out of shape. I know my inaction has cost me my friend; I know I could have done something, I could have stopped it, even if it had meant my martyrdom. At least he wouldn’t have died alone. When I manage to return to the room he is already beheaded, and a curious white disc - like a plastic cap - has formed or has been placed across the wound: not a drop of blood shed. Clean, no mess. At least, not that the eye can discern... |
HA HA!!!